Aladdin James

Saturday night was the year-end office party. Theme: Glam Rock. I was one of two guys of about 400 who had actually been alive for that phenomenon. As I had recently a chance to visit the fantastic "David Bowie Is" exhibition when visiting Jai in Chicago, I was well prepared. If you haven't seen it recently check out the "Boys Keep Swinging" video. I forgot how hilarious it is.

Why We Fight II

Uniformed men line the streets, armed for our protection
To guard us from those criminals who have the wrong complexion
When things go wrong they know that they’ll be let off by the jury
And this is in the USA, in Ferguson Missouri

So this is why we fight, brothers
This is why we fight
Now's not the time to stop and rest
For this is why we fight

I'm not sure how long these will stay up:

New Bryan Ferry

New Robert Wyatt anthology

Why We Fight

A first draft of an Election Day song....


Some will fall in glory, and others fall in shame
Still others give up because both sides seem the same
Some fear humiliation, some direct attack
But sometimes when we’re broken, new roots grow through the crack

And this is why we fight, brothers
This is why we fight
Though sometimes we must stop and rest
This is why we fight

Happy happy birthday baby

Many happy returns of the day, Tracette, and my best to Tim the Horse!

Jack of Diamonds

A re-write of "Rye Whiskey", more or less:


Jack of Diamonds, he said go ahead boy and spin it
Jack of Diamonds, he said if you want it you’ll win it
His two one-eyed brothers are sleeping or dead
The king offed himself with a sword through the head
Everything can change in the tiniest minute
Oh, Jack of Diamonds

Jack of Diamonds calls the Queen out to bring you good luck
And when she appears you will know you’ve been struck
Before you can see it you’ll be hit by the flash
That opens the future and wipes out the past
Your one chance at freedom mows you down like a truck
Oh, Jack of Diamonds

Jack of Diamonds says pull it, there’s no time to wait
What looked like mere chance will be turned into fate
He says now’s the moment but you’ll have to jump
There’s only one card left but he’ll make it the trump
Oh why did I listen, it’s already too late
Oh, Jack of Diamonds

The modern world's not so bad...

Greetings from Singapore. I've taken up a job here as MD of Citco Fund Services. Still keeping a place in Mumbai and Bangalore. Will be traveling to the US a bit more regularly in the next year. Where shall we meet? Email me at tiojymn@gmail.com. Cheers!

Waving Goodbye

You just love the one who leaves you
You just love to watch men go
You love waving from the window
Humming the saddest songs you know

At the airport or bus station
The only time that we embrace
Is when you watch me going
A brave look on your face

Don’t want to travel
I’d rather stay
You only see me
When you see me slip away

You watch me pack my suitcase
So happy that you get to cry
You always love the one who leaves you
You just love to wave goodbye

Happy birthday,  Poppa.  I'll let my train be my feet if it's too far to walk to you.

Sorry to hear about Jim Rockford, Jim.  He had a good run.

The Overnight Journey From the Last Darkness To This One (by River)

Lie, let the darkness come
Let yourself float down the river
Down its sweet, dark stream
Rest, let go of the day
Don't be afraid of night
Dream the hardest dream

You can’t take flowers with you
Just one smooth small stone
Ravens and owls will watch you
You’re not alone

See, the sun starts to dissolve
Goes out like a spark
But stars can only shine 
When the sky’s grown dark

Lie, hear the river’s song
Words that cannot be spoken
Words that melt in light
Drift into the night
Dream the hardest dream

RIP Tommy Ramone
Now there were none

I've been reading Richard Hell's memoir, I Dreamed I Was A Very Clean Tramp. He's sort of a dope, of course, but this observation had a certain resonance with the Brothers Twain: "Of course what's deepest down inside is boring; it's actually the surface that's interesting, even though it's often deceptive.  We're probably all the same as each other deep down inside."

Today's Verse: 20 May 2014

The law conserves all stains
Removed at home
They find their way to a better life
They find their way

The law preserves all pains
Endured at birth
They make their way forevermore
They make their way

Parse the debris
Parse the debris
I'm looking for something
It's looking for me

The law describes all vice
Forbidden in vain
It makes its way from vanity
It makes it's way

The law derives a price
Measured in blood
It leads the way from penury
It leads the way

Parse the debris
Parse the debris
I'm looking for something
It's looking for me

I won't be misled
By herrings of red
I won't be deceived
By visions that please
I'm not going to fall
For your foldearol
I'm telling you dear
And I'm telling you clear

The law exalts desire
Emboldened by need
It shows the way to eternal life
It shows the way

The law entails failure
To observe itself
A beacon of burning futility
A portal flung wide on a mystery
Empty, corrupt, and now you see
What I was looking for

The Hunter of Song

The Hunter of Song goes into the jungle
Armed only with his loin-cloth and knife
To battle the song right on its own turf
To pay, if he must, with his life
And once he has seized it, he looks in its face
He demands that it tell him its Name
And then, only then he returns to the world
His face glowing with the song’s flame

I do my songwriting
Without the sacrifice
I write my songs in comfort
With a cold drink over ice
All I ever do is
Doo-doo-doo-doo doo-doo
All I ever say is
Yay-yeah-yeah yeah-yeah-yay
All I ever do is
Doo-doo-doo-doo doo-doo-doo


The Sculptor of Song digs in the ground
For the one perfect rough stone
Once he has started, his chisel can’t rest
Until the song’s completely his own
The Priest of Song will not approach the Muse
Till he has been purified
Then he returns and sings till dawn
The Spirit now moving from inside

I do my songwriting
Without the sacrifice
I write my songs in comfort
With a cold drink over ice
All I ever do is
Doo-doo-doo-doo doo-doo
All I ever say is
Yay-yeah-yeah yeah-yeah-yay
All I ever do is
Doo-doo-doo-doo doo-doo-doo

I'm unable to write in the text box, can't figure out why

That's annoying.  Try using a different browser?  --JB

Summa Babalogicum

You show me my life through a prism
Of my own foolish narcissism
And tempt me to buy what isn’t
Anything but a false reflection
That pretty picture in the mirror
The songs that flatter every hearer
You say they will bring me nearer
To a made-up image of perfection

Please don’t try to tell me anything
Please don’t try to sell me anything
I’m not clientele, or anything
I’m alright doing pretty well

You want to sell me a rebellion
Free me up to be a hellion
It’s a bit too Machiavellian
Must I pay for my own prostitution?
Buy yourself some outlaw tattoos
You have but your chains to lose
And we can sell you matching shoes
Shopping is a form of revolution

Please don’t try to tell me anything
Please don’t try to sell me anything
I’m not clientele, or anything
I’m alright doing pretty well

Red team, blue team, same team, new team
Pictures of whatever you dream
Brand new colors, same old régime
Anyway, I know I’ll end up paying
Sorry, friend, you kind of lost me
All these slogans just exhaust me
Tell me what it’s going to cost me
So I can cheer the new flag we’re displaying

Please don’t try to tell me anything
Please don’t try to sell me anything
I’m not clientele, or anything
I’m alright doing pretty well

Happy birthday, dear Critter.  It is only with your eyes I see.

This Swelling of the Tide

Today I was talking to some people who work at the University of California, Riverside and I said by way of making conversation, I hope you're having nice sunny weather like we are up here in Oakland, which, of course they are, they're in southern California, and that's what the first woman said, she said oh yes it's very nice, it's sunny but it's also windy.  You know, the Santa Ana winds. And then the other woman said, Look at those palm trees bending over.  This is a true story, as best as I can remember it.

Unknown Unknowns

In the "Spheres of Influence" erotico-polical vein:


I saw Donald Rumsfeld
On a TV Show last night
That bastard may be crazy
But I've come to think he's right:

All knowledge is provisional, there is no fixed ideal
The world's just a construct that we pretend is real
Everything in love and war's just patterns in the swerve
There's nothing really true or false, just triumph of the nerve

Known unknowns
Unknown unknowns
There's no room for a demilitarized zone
Known unknowns
Unknown unknowns
All these unknown unknowns

The day I came into your house and made you my girl Friday
You fought and bit, but I prevailed.  Freedom's not so tidy.
We had a week-long party dedicated to annihilation
Til you covered me with flowers and we called it liberation.

Known unknowns
Unknown unknowns
Our former friends are now overthrown
Known unknowns
Unknown unknowns
All these unknown unknowns

It's true I bound you up and attempted asphyxiation
But then you covered me all over in shame and humiliation
Eventually I pushed you in the booby trap I'd built
But if there's nothing true or false, how can there be guilt?

Known unknowns
Unknown unknowns
Finally we all stand alone
Known unknowns
Unknown unknowns
All these unknown unknowns

Sub Mission (2)

From Bandra to Banda Sea



Still Can't Say No

Thinking today of the song that goes, "Someone talking, talking says that he's a socialist, whatever the hell that means.  I never got the gist.  I can understand why somebody would think that I am queer, but that he'd be just like me is the only thing I fear.  And still I can't say no."

Music Cage

Last Call

Last call
Let's go
The party's over, we've been left behind
Last call
We're done
Like melted ice cubes & a lemon rind

Last call
Head home
The bartender's packing up his cut-up limes
Tip well
Poor guy
You told him your most boring stories several times

Here's to those who look up and see
That Venus and Dionysus have fled
Nothing left but a Daily Show rerun
Some PopTarts, then off to bed

Last call
So sad
The drugs we took were not quite proper
Last call
Time's up
Everyone else had ecstasy and poppers



All the rest found a better party
To which you and I were not invited
Sad to say, our love for the in-crowd
Is a love unrequited

Last call
Show's done
The only music is the ringing in our ears
Last call
Pack up
But grab some swizzle-stick souvenirs
It's the only way to show that we were here

Elegy

Jimmy called up and I knew right away
It was years in the coming, but it happened today
I knew what it'd be even before he said,
"It finally happened.  I'm sorry.  He's dead."
You'd bragged and you'd treated it all like joke
But the illness was stronger and you finally broke
Someone, I know, should have been there and stayed.
I'm sorry you were alone.  I hope you weren't afraid.

I think of the good times, just like you're supposed to
So fun to be with, so hard to be close to
Sometimes I ignored your lies and deceit
Thinking those are allowed to a poète maudit
As if your pretension to being an artist
Excused certain choices, perhaps not the smartest
But whatever I say to try and dismiss you
I can't see the bottom to how much I'll miss you

I'm saying this now trying to fill up the void
I know if you heard it you'd just be annoyed
Of course you would find it all dumb and cliché
At best you might smile and say, "Yeah, it's OK"
Or maybe this once, maybe you'd condescend
To accept something given with love from a friend
I wish it were better. It's all that I've got.
You're dead now, you bastard. You're dead and I'm not.

Parlor Song

There once was a flower that grew in a hedge
She filled up my heart with her scent
Today when I looked, the flower was gone
And nobody knew where she went

Oh why should I weep
Oh why should I cry
The flower is gone
But her scent still stays by

There once was a bird who lived in a tree
And delighted us all with his song
Then some thoughtless boy killed my bird with a shot
And now my most dear friend is gone

Oh why should I weep
Oh why should I cry
My dear friend is gone
But his song still stays by

There once was a mermaid who lived in a brook
And her voice was the sound of a dream
The mermaid has vanished, I'll see her no more
But I still hear her voice in the stream

Oh why should I weep
Oh why should I cry
My mermaid is gone
But her voice still rolls by

"Our Country Duet"

You and I sing together every Thursday at Slagger's
Like George Jones and Tammy Wynette
The high point's the moment when you look in my eyes
As we sing "Our Country Duet".

But last night something happenned as we sang that song
That spooked me and I can't forget
I got a strange empty feeling when you looked in my eyes
As we sang "Our Country Duet".

Oh the words were the same and the tune was the same
And it wasn't like you looked upset
But I knew it was over when you looked in my eyes
As we sang "Our Country Duet".

And when we had finished you walked off the stage
And smiled and lit a cigarette
Did you know that I'd noticed what happened just then
As you sang "Our Country Duet"?

I look at you and, though you don't touch my hand,
Your face isn't filled with regret
But I know it now, even if you can't say it
I can never sing "Our Country Duet".






Kind of a country cousin to the last one.

Let the Music Do the Talking

Kind of a simple one, but it has a nice tune.



Let the music do the talking
Words lie and betray
Music has a way of saying
What words can never say

When I get sentimental
My feelings are a mess
Music then can say things
That words just can't express

For when you speak
Then the thought is broken
But music expresses
The unspoken

Every tune is a story
Each melody, unique
Why should words do the talking
Just let the music speak
Oh, just let the music speak

Happy birthday Jymn!  You make me blank.

Swiss mus-i-shian: http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/in-the-loop/wp/2013/11/12/tina-turner-formally-relinquishes-u-s-citizenship/

The Return of the Maroon Smoking Jacket

A very happy birthday and many happy returns of the day, Tracy!  One hears from you far too seldom. How is Tim the Horse?

Christmas Special 13: The Twelfth Night of Christmas

I'm thinking a Nick Lowe, piano and brushes-on-the-snare feel.



Tomorrow the needles
Get swept off the floor
We'll take that dried wreath
Off of the door

The tinsel and ribbons
Will get thrown away
It's the Twelfth Night of Christmas
The very last day

The season of giving
Is over and done
And though it was fun
The time has now come for everyday living

Tomorrow we'll unplug
And box up the lights
It's the Twelfth Night of Christmas
The very last night

Christmas Special: The Christmas I Don't Remember

Cups of mulled wine, fresh eggnog
The roaring flame of the Yule-tide log
The smoky smell of smoldering embers
None of this do I remember

Sister's chased by her new beau
Until, beneath the mistletoe
Kisses are offered in surrender
None of this do I remember

Wassail bowl and Christmas toasts
Whelkins, oysters, pheasant, chickens
Leg of mutton, goose and roasts
A feast right out of Charles Dickens

The Parson makes a pious face
And says a most distinguished grace
"For thy gifts that thou dost tender…"
It must have hapenned--can't remember


We trudge through snow with our ice skates
To play Crack the Whip on the frozen lake
Some beautiful day in late December
Sorry, no, I don't remember

The snowmen all in family poses
Coal for eyes and carrot noses
Papa's hat, to distinguish gender
Sounds like fun. I don't remember

Mother boiling home-made candy
That she puts in silver wrappers
Raisins pulled from flaming brandy
Snapdragons and Christmas crackers

Father holds the baby high
To place the star and glorify
Our Christmas tree in all its splendor
None if this do I remember.

Christmas Special: What If It's True?

'Twas early morning Christmas Eve and I was less than fresh
I stumbled by a church and laughed at the plastic crèche
And even though I riduled the crazy manger scene
Still part of me was wondering what it all could mean


What if peace and justice really come from above?
If life has a meaning, and that meaning is love?
If a kind word can triumph over force of a fist?
What if that's the reason why we humans even exist?
What if we take seriously the words of Doctor King?
What if "Amazing Grace" isn't just a song for Aretha to sing?
What if we paid attention to Mahalia and Sam Cooke
Bach's St. Matthew's Passion and Dostoevesky's books?

I mean, what if it's true?
It seems unlikely, but what if it's true?
It makes as much sense as most things do
I don't know, what if it's true?

I'm no one to talk about salvation, I'm just about the worst
My friends would only laugh if I'd say the last shall be the first
If somebody hits me I'll give them a smack
I'm not going to smile and say please could you hit me back?
I don't love my neighbors, I can barely stand 'em
I won't turn the other cheek, I'll just strike out at random
But what if there really is more to life this:
Eating, drinking, scratching, snoring, belching and a piss

So what if it's true?
It  seems unlikely, but what if it's true?
It doesn't seem like anyone else has a clue
You never know, it just might be true

Christmas Special: (Just Like An) Astronaut (In Space on Christmas)

I heard a cover of "Space Oddity" and thought, that would make a good Christmas song.

I feel marooned 

As far away as the moon

I don't know how I got myself in this mess

Out of my window

I see the earth's bluish glow

I'm like an astronaut in space on Christmas

On my space phone

I try to call home

Pleading pull me from this seclusion

Help me Houston

I float effortlessly

Suspended in zero-G 

As if there were no center with us

Just like an astronaut in space on Christmas

Alone and unloved

Though they say I have the Right Stuff

I feel a sadness that I cannot dísmiss

In my tin playpen

Abandoned son of John Glenn

I'm like an astronaut in space on Christmas

Can I reverse

Come back to earth 

Free myself from inside this capsule?

Help me NASA

Like a misanthrope

Peering through his telescope

At all this Christmas celebration business

I'm like an astronaut in space on Christmas.

R.I.P Rosie

Haji, Rosie of Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, has passed on.  "Soak it up Miss Sponge, I'm-a gonna squeezing you dry!"

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-23666502

Some Mad Maggies, embedded for your pleasure.  The brindle pit bull at the :26 mark is Odetta.

Happy birthday James!  I love yuh, Big Dummy.

Christmas Special: O Tannenbaum

Beneath the tree, the dark roots shove
With star and sun and fire above
The golden sparks of its machinery
Flash and shine within the greenery

O tannenbaum, O tannenbaum
O glorious green fuse
Our food and shelter, seed and juice
Our mistress and our muse

We mark its branches with a wreath
With blood-red berries underneath
And there's the plant entwined like lace
That tells us when we may embrace

O tannenbaum O tannenbaum
Remain forever green
A beacon in our darkest days
Our begetter and our queen

And the great Father in his boots
Pulls it up right by the roots
He sets the mighty log alight
Which burns for twelve days and twelve nights

O tannenbaum O tannenbaum
Spirit of woods and earth
As you're consumed with fire
We view our own rebirth

Nick Lowe's getting on the Christmas Special train: http://nicklowe.com/

Christmas Special 08: The Advent Calendar

Well, each day has a secret
If you know how to find it
Each secret opens up a door
Each with a gift behind it

Each gift is like a mouth
Each mouth has its own word
And every word a saint
And every saint a bird

For every day is like a new book
Open it up slowly!
Each book is a story in stained glass
All lit up and holy

Each day's a secret storeroom
In which all things belong:
Cathedral, atlas, Noah's ark
Museum, city, song





Not forgetting Jimmy's curious habit of not opening any Advent windows for several days, then opening them all at once

Christmas Special 07: When It Snows in San Francisco

Some call it Baghdad by the Bay
Some the Barbary Coast
When it snows in San Francisco
Her beauty shines the most
The Victorians form quite elegant shapes
With a quiet, bluish glow
When it snows in San Francisco
San Francisco in the snow

Over on Castro and Market
There's quite a lively scene
Contestants dressed as skaters vie
To be named Ice Queen
Dorothy Hamils and Peggy Flemings
Compete for "Best of Show"
When it snows in San Francisco
San Francisco in the snow

Cars go flying off-street
As they try to navigate Gough Street
Or fly quick as an arrow
Slipping down Divisidero

The food trucks tweet that they will serve
The finest cocoa from Europe
A few will even serve up locally-sourced
Snow and maple syrup
Guys with beards and boots and vests
Who look like Henry Thoreau
Line up in San Francisco
San Francisco in the snow

Christmas Special: Christmas Eve in Texas, 1954

You have to imagine Firestone singing this in his Beefheart-ish blues voice:


Christmas Eve in Texas
Nineteen fifty-four
The crowd called out for Johnny
Lined up way outside the door
Who could guess that Johnny
Would not be alive
New Year's Day in Houston, Texas
Nineteen fifty-five

Big Mama said to Johnny,
"Watch how you have fun
Don't drink and slap a lady
And you be careful with that gun
There is one card, Johnny
That can beat an Ace."
Christmas Eve in Houston, Texas
Wrong night, wrong place

He said, "I've pledged my love, now
The time has come to spend it."
She said, "Fame's a hound dog
There's no way you can befriend it."
His finger on the trigger
Getting set to pull it
He said, "Mama, now don't you worry
There's just one bullet."

Johnny watched the clock
Both hands stuck at twelve
He aimed at Big Mama
Then aimed the gun right at himself
The crowd was calling Johnny
But there was no encore
That Christmas Eve in  Houston, Texas
Nineteen fifty-four

Christmas Special 05: The Longest Night of the Year

A love song to Santy Claus, which as far as I know makes it unique in the Christmas cannon:


This night's both dark and bright
This longest night of the year
The shortest day is too long
Only night brings you near

I hear bells ringing
Up in the sky
I'm too excited
To fall asleep when you're so nearby

Any moment you'll be here
The longest night of the year


I see your shadow
Cast on the moon
I look up and know
You'll be shining on me soon

And like magic you'll appear
The longest night of the year

Christmas Special: No Returns

Gifts lined up in a row
Each one with a bow
Corners all just so

I haven't any bling for you
All that I can bring for you
Is the song I sing for you

And when you open up 
My little song
What if I got
The size and color wrong?

Love, this is not show biz
My song comes "as is"
No returns, as is.

Christmas Special: Boxing Day

They say the most important thing's

A positive attitude

So we'll smile uneasily while

You show your gratitude:

Thank you for the twenty bucks you tipped us

Thank you!

Thank you for the bottle that you slipped us 

Thank you!

Never mind the many times you clipped us

Thank you!

Thank you for your presents on this Boxing Day

We don 't mind how often you've neglected us

We don't mind!

We don't mind that you have disrespected us

We don't mind!

The petty insults to which you have subjected us

We don't mind!

Thank you for your presents on this Boxing Day

A special day is set aside,

The feast day of St. Stephen

For charity that otherwise

You really don't believe in

Thank you for this one day when you serve us

Thank you!

When you pretend you really don't deserve us

Thank you!

Even though it only makes us nervous

Thank you!

Thank you for your presents on this Boxing Day

Schamus delivered the 2013 Saint John's commencement speech: http://www.stjohnscollege.edu/about/AN/speeches/gradspeech_2013.pdf

Christmas Special 02: The Snowman (when he melts)

 A soul blues, like "Neighbor, Neighbor" or "My Babe":


What happens to a snowman when he melts?
He gets turned into something else
Mister Snowman melts and dies 
Nothing left bit two coal eyes
Please don't make a poor old snowman melt

What happens to a snowman when he thaws?
You can say goodbye, he's a lost cause
He will turn into a softie
No more being cooler than Frosty
Please don't make a poor old snowman thaw

Winter is the only season
For a frozen heart
Springtime blows it into pieces
When growth and greenery start

What happens when you melt a cold, cold man
Who never felt a thing since time began?
He will turn right onto water
Crying over some man's daughter
Please don't try to melt a cold, cold man

Christmas Special 01: Santa's Comin' Tonight

I'd like to do a Christmas show this year of all original songs, so I'm trying to get an early start on the songwriting. My first is a 70s Nashville weeper. More to follow.



Little Bobby told me after grace over our meal
The big kid next door said to him that Santa Claus ain't real
I saw his little worried face and had to make things right
I said, "Your momma loves your daddy and Santa's comin' tonight.

Christmas Day will be the best day ever at our house this year
Food and gifts and togetherness and all that yuletide cheer
I know you've heard your mom and papa having little fights
But Momma loves your daddy and Santa's comin' tonight."

Well, the truth is that sometimes you've got to tell your children lies
Tell them that they can't believe what they see with their own eyes
Kids just want to know they'll have both a dad and mom
That they're livin' with a nuclear family and not a nuclear bomb

My boy's all the world to me, I can't think about his face
When he learns the world's not such a happy, magic place
So I'll say what I have to, tell him black is white
That his momma loves his daddy, and Santa's comin' tonight.

(I lost you and then I lost) George Jones

Tonight I heard the news

And poured some drugstore booze

Into a jar with a picture of Fred Flintstone

I guess I should hold back

But my mood is extra black

Cause I lost you and then I lost George Jones

I feel the sadness coming on

As I listen to his songs

It's a pain that travels deep inside my bones

Just when things seemed seemed alright

The news came in tonight

That I lost you and then I lost George Jones

I know I've played around

I know I've been a drunk

And there are even worse things that I've done

But look at old George Jones

Well, who'd have ever thunk

That old outlaw would live to 81?

I'm spinning those great LPs 

And pitying poor little me

Drunk again and singing all alone

I'm slipping into the abyss

Say, what kind of world is this

Where I've lost you and now I've lost George Jones?

Shiva is

a 17 year old blind girl in Dadar.

My old nemesis as the Lemonade Seller: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/07/magazine/the-fearless-risk-loving-winemaker.html

I can't imagine what the overlap between Roxy fans and lovers of trad jazz could be.  I can only assume that Bryan Ferry made "The Jazz Age" for me personally.  Thanks Bryan. I may need to get a new maroon smoking jacket (full-length, this time.)

Shouting in a Bucket Blues

Ah, this is sad

Hard Times for 2013

Updated verses for a song that's a few years old now:

The Mayans made a prophecy
When the end'd at last occur
Instead we got the usual:
A schoolhouse massacre.

Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

A policeman tried to tell me
His department was corrupt
He killed his captain's daughter
Before they blew him up

Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

Lightning struck the Vatican
The chimney smoke blew black
The Pope had run away, and they
Were trying to get him back

Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

Maybe I am trying to hard
To read between the lines
Are asteroids and meteors
Exploding warning signs?

Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

Dorothy's Parka (Who Cares the Least)

It's taken me a while to get something here, really had a strong desire to "reply" to 4P. It's not what I initially imagined but I like it anyway. Makes a nice bookend I think. And a couple of nice "tricks" in it that gave me pleasure to write.

I'm sorry darling that I distinguish
What I show and how I feel
Your love infects me like possession
At your feet I bow and kneel

It may happen in conversation
I wear a mask and show restraint
You must know that I adore you
And I'm showing what I ain't

Could I survive the raging passion
Endure sans cesse the touch so sweet
Every day I would expire
Denied convention's clemency

So watch: I'm bland; see: I'm insipid
I've covered up the shameless beast
Who waits supine, dying for you
While I pretend to care the least

The Next To Last Night of the Year

Well isn't this a lovely night?
The bar has both Bud and Coor's Lite
You asked me not to call too late
But I'm starting to deteriorate
Two idiots right by the door
Go on about how they much drank the night before
Why'm I alone
Why am I here
On the next to last day
Of the year


My mother said that if your bored
You lack Resources--Oh, Good Lord!
I'm sorry if I seem remorseless
But I admit that I've no Resources
Tomorrow night, off to the scene
Where the boys are dumb and the girls are kind of mean
Why will I go
Why aren't you here
On the next to last day
Of the year


This morning as the sun arose
I was still dressed in last night's clothes
The crescent moon was nearly gone
The stars were fading in the dawn
Tomorrow night, another day
Another wasted year gets toasted and gets thrown away
And why go on
If you're not here
On the next to last day
Of the year

4.P

Came up with this while reading Dorothy Parker on the flight home from Montgomery AL:

All my wisest friends have told me

If you'd save yourself distress

Keep a close watch on your heart

Be the one who loves the less

Love well, my friend, but not too much

So they tell me that it's best

To lose your head but not completely

Be the one who loves the less

If you keep your feelings penned up

Slightly distant and amused

You're much more likely to end up

With your heart just slightly bruised

This is what my wise friends tell me

Thinking of my happiness

Yet I think just one more time I'll

Be the one who loves to excess

Last November I had an attack of the gout that had me limping for a few weeks.  The doctor told me I had to end my relationship with my old friend Bertolino Bourboni.  He since relented and told me it's OK to see him, now and again, socially, but that our former passionate friendship might lead to more and more frequent gout attacks.  I've done it before, of course, but this is a sad thing.  Tuba-playng and sobriety don't go together so well.

Bobbi's Coming Back

We've had our little summer fling

Our brief clandestine tryst

But I can't see you any more

Please go now, I insist…

Bobbi watches all her fellows

Her temper's bad, and she's jealous

Better run girl, girl run faster

If she catches you, it'll be a disaster

Tell your priest to start saying mass

'Cause Bobbi's going to kick your ass

All the way to Indiana

She's a new Tura Satana

'Cause now Bobbi's coming back

B-B-B-Bobbi's coming back

Bobbi's coming back to town

You won't like the resolution

Of her acts of retribution

But Bobbi's coming back to town

Sure we had a brief flirtation

But it's time to change your focus

Weren't you talking about taking a vacation

To visit your sister in Ho-Ho-Kus?

Don't think she'll get any softer--

Now she's taking her earrings off her

She will go and snap your body

She knows kung-fu and karate

Bobbi has the force when she gets vicious

Of a few well-armed militias

She'll do grievous bodily acts of harm

Someone just might buy the farm

'Cause now Bobbi's coming back

B-B-B-Bobbi's coming back

Bobbi's coming back to town

You better get your bags packed

If you don't want to get whacked

'Cause Bobbi's coming back to town

                                      The original Tura Satana

The Old Bear to Delmore Schwartz

Poor bear

     His toothless mouth that cannot bite

     His eyes now clouded milky white

     His sad, unending appetite

The old bear’s fallen down

Poor bear

Making wild faces like a brute

Pulling tricks in his charm suit

Panting, roaring, what a beaut

The old bear, man about town

Poor bear

Shambling with his funny trot

Humbled in a bunny squat

Looking for his honey pot 

The old bear of renown

Poor bear

In his sleep lets out a scream

All he ever does is dream

Of eating candy and ice cream

The old bear’s lost his crown

And even when I think I'm alone

He apes every move I make

I hear his sad, pathetic groan

The vast world of his bellyache

Poor bear

The joker with his rubber ball

His shoes too big, his pants too small

They clap and laugh to watch him fall

The old bear's just a clown

Poor bear

Takes one more round on stage

He growls and lunges out in rage

Ha ha!  Too funny! Doesn't need a cage

The old bear's going down

Bye, Ray

http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/ray-collins-original-mothers-of-invention-singer-dead-of-heart-attack-20121227



(not to be confused with Lieutenant Tragg)

The Chatter and The Noise

An Along Came Jones studio recording: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5f9ATPbocDw

 

Happy birthday Jymn!  Let it flow with you.